


Reaching the Breaking Point

by Reiven



Series: Breaking Point [2]
Category: Point Break (2015)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Kiss in the Sea, M/M, Paralysed!Johnny Utah, Wheelchairs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 08:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11309724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiven/pseuds/Reiven
Summary: Bodhi was given a second chance that he didn’t deserve, but it was one fateful article that turned his whole world completely on its head and maybe gave him a reason to accept that second chance that he didn’t really want. Maybe it was even his chance to finally make things right and prove to himself that he really did deserve this new life with this person who meant absolutely everything to him.





	Reaching the Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve written quite a few stories that I'm immensely proud of, but this one and this universe is hands down one of my favourites.
> 
>   
> 

He was in Peru at the time; a whole other world away on another continent and another time zone, working in a quaint little corner lot coffee shop of all places. It was absolutely the last place he thought he’d ever find himself, brewing overpriced frilly lattes for adolescents and hipsters and young people, too absorbed by the technology at their fingertips; noses buried in their phones and their laptops, unconcerned with the rest of their lives passing them by and the gift of youth they were wasting on disinterest and complacency.

They should be out there, engaging in life, appreciating the beauty of Mother Nature and all the amazing things she had to offer. But instead they spend half their lives indoors, sequestered away from interaction with the rest of the earth’s living creatures, living imaginary lives from behind the screens of their mobile devices.

It’s just by chance that he happens upon the news article; walking past a student after delivering her latte. She has her laptop open and an English news article on the front page with an official picture of the familiar face in the dark blue dress suit and eyes that are too blue staring back at him. His eyes zoom in immediately on the word ‘shot’ in the article that all of a sudden feels like it’s in a different language altogether. He doesn’t realize when his step quickens and he disappears into the backroom, ignoring the calls of his co-workers calling him to deliver drinks to the awaiting customers.

He feels his heartbeat thumping in his chest when his shaking fingers scramble for his own phone. He must have read that wrong; looked at the picture and somehow projected the familiar face from the deep recesses of his memories onto that of a complete stranger—that was a more logical explanation, right? Or a more wistful one. This couldn’t be real.

Even when he lost everyone, he still had Utah. Even when they were apart, even after all this time, he found reassurance in knowing that he was out there somewhere; living his life and catching bad guys and whatever else those fancy FBI agents did on the job.

How long has it even been since he’s looked upon that face and the mop of blond hair; way too blond and way to eye catching? That’s the only reason why he always found himself unable to look away. At least that’s what he told himself. That’s also the only reason why he let him in even when the guy reeked of cop and why he pulled him out of the water when every instinct in him told him to just let him drown. Death was a part of life after all. Just as Roach had said; they were all going to die, the only question was how.

Instead this persistent guy with the too innocent face and the too blond hair dropped in on his wave despite the odds and almost lost his life because of it. If he died, it would have just been the natural order of things; no one’s fault but his own. But somehow Bodhi felt a pull toward this stranger; to this guy he’d never seen before in his life but somehow seemed unsettlingly familiar. He found himself in the water before his brain could even register what he was about to do.

But he saved him, despite Roach’s disapproval; brought him onto their yacht and dumped him on one of the seats to regain consciousness and sober up from almost dying.

Everything that came after was like something out of a grim fairy tale; complete with the evil stepmother and the poisoned apple. He was the evil stepmother on the inside and Utah turned out to be his poisoned apple.

But he’s looking at the news article and the words aren’t making any sense, but it’s the painful face from a time in his life he’d rather forget staring up at him almost accusingly.

_Shot in the line of duty. Seriously injured. Survival uncertain._

He replays those three sentences over and over in his head and it makes less and less sense each time he does. But uncertain means alive at the very least and he latches onto that small bit of hope. He doesn’t remember taking off his apron and tossing the tray to the side, hearing it making a racket as it clatters to the floor. He doesn’t remember walking out the back door of the coffee shop or walking down the back road towards the small hole in the wall apartment he was renting. He doesn’t remember putting one foot ahead of the other or when he reaches the mouth of the alley. He doesn’t remember breaking into a sprint for the last three blocks leading to his apartment until he feels his feet moving too fast and the wind starts whipping into his face.

He doesn’t even know what he plans on doing or how he’s going to get back. He doesn’t know if it’s even safe for him to go back there, to go see Utah. He doesn’t know if Utah is even alive right now but all he knows is he needs to get there, he needs to get back. Everyone he knew and ever loved died a scary and lonely death; something he expected to do himself when he paddled out into the behemoth of a wave rushing terrifyingly and imposingly fast towards him. But somehow he’d avoided death, or maybe death had rejected him instead. Perhaps even death had found him unworthy.

He’d spend the last few years travelling the world, trying to make sense of his life, at his second chance at life and why he’d been afforded the honour when there were so many other people more deserving of it.

Someone like Ozaki.

Maybe it was _Her_ gift to him for completing the eight.

But he’s on a plane before he realizes it. Using up all the funds he’d saved through the years working odd jobs here and there to support himself, to survive, all while spending his nights staring up at the blackness of the starry sky asking the heavens _why_?

Why did he survive? Why is he still alive? What did he do to deserve it?

He thinks of Utah and the memory of his face and his smile and he thinks that being alive meant he still has a chance to see him again.

But now Utah might be dying, if he’s not already dead, and he’s sitting on the plane flying out hoping that at the very least he’d get the chance to see his face one last time and be able to say goodbye.

It’s been two days since he first caught a glimpse of Utah’s face on the front page of the news website and almost three since the actual shooting. He’s standing outside the looming building in the city he hasn’t stepped foot in for decades.

Trying to get information on Utah would seem to be the biggest obstacle, he is an FBI agent after all, and from his experience dealing with the Feds or any kind of law enforcement agency, he suspects that they wouldn’t be too willing to just hand out information to just any Tom, Dick or Harry, much less someone who looks like him and isn’t family.

The mention of family reminds him of the token he keeps close, something he’d found during one of their chases along the way and something he’d kept close to him as a memento of the person who’d punched his way into Bodhi’s inner circle of friends and became so much more.

The moment he steps up to the hospital receptionist, a thought occurs to him; a memory of a conversation from once upon a time ago, told from across a small bonfire near the peak of an icy mountaintop.

 _It’s not Utah_ , Bodhi remembers him saying. _That’s just a nickname_. He wracks his brain for snippets of the conversation; he distinctly remembers Utah mentioning it once in passing; _that_ name, his name; something too ordinary and average and something that didn’t fit him at all. Not like Utah. Not the way that nickname suited him to a T.

“Bringer,” he nearly exclaims in her face when the name comes to him like a flash of lightning across the sky. “Agent John Bringer,” he says with much more control after he manages to reel himself back, brandishing the golden badge like it came completely natural to him. “I just received news that he was shot. He’s my—uh, was my former partner.”

The receptionist is hesitant for a while and for a moment Bodhi thinks she’s somehow managed to see through his fib.

He tries not to visibly exhale when she directs him to the ICU on the fifth floor. He thanks her, using every bit of charm he can muster trying not to look as awkward as he really feels inside and trying to not flinch whenever he catches a glimpse of his own reflection on a shiny surface. It’s unnerving seeing himself that way; his hair short and slicked back. His hand itches to reach up to brush back the wayward bangs that are no longer there. No beard and wearing a smart dark blue suit without the tie. He’s pretty sure Utah himself wouldn’t recognize him if he were standing right in front of him. But it’s a necessity. More than three years had passed since the Cortes Bank and he’s pretty sure at this point even the FBI has finally moved on. Especially considering the entire world thinks he’s dead. But a person can never be too careful or let their guard down so easily.

He did that when he welcomed Utah into their group and look how that turned out for him.

The ICU is eerily calm. No real sounds of chatter or meaningless conversation, just the muffled backdrop noises and the sounds of life support machines in the background. He keeps an eye out for anyone that looks like they might be an FBI agent or any sort of government agent. Flashing the badge again gets him directed easily enough towards the third room down the hall where a couple of nurses are making their exit.

He flashes them a smile when they pass before he comes to a stop just short of the entrance.

Bodhi couldn’t even begin to imagine how bad he’d look until he actually laid eyes on him.

Flanked on either side by a myriad of machines emitting an assortment of different beeping and hissing sounds; dozens of crisscrossing lines leading towards and away from the still figure, woefully unconscious under the crisp white blanket.

Bodhi never thought he’d never have to see Utah so hurt. He never thought he’d ever have to see anyone so hurt.

The nurses said he was in a coma, and up until that point, Bodhi never really understood what that meant. It’s nothing like looking at someone asleep or even unconscious; Utah is just complete… absent, though he doesn’t look any worse for wear. There are no obvious bruises or broken bones, no grotesque lacerations or a myriad of stitches marring pale skin that he can see.

It’s just Utah. The same face, the same long blond hair splayed out on his pillow. He’d look like he was just asleep if everything about him didn’t seem totally vacant and just— _not there_. And if not for the life support machines and the ventilator and the breathing tube keeping him alive.

Bodhi thought he felt powerless when it came to watching someone he cared about die; when it was Chowder… when it was Ozaki. It was quick and it was final and there was absolutely nothing he could have done.

But this is a different kind of helplessness; looking at someone he cares about half dead, if not dying and not being able to do anything but sit by and watch it happen.

He takes Utah’s hand in his. His skin is cold to the touch unlike the times in the past, in memories Bodhi pulls from the deep recesses of his mind, feeling the warm, strong shoulder in his grasp. He looks at Utah’s slack face, partially obscured by the tape holding his breathing tube in place and reaches over to run his fingers through the long mane of blond hair, brushing the wayward strands away from his forehead.

“Utah?” he tries, calling the name softly; receiving response, though he wasn’t actually expecting one. “Johnny?” he tries again.

Utah just sleeps on, unperturbed.

Bodhi uses his cover to convince the medical people to let him stay. In the two days he’s there not once did he run into anyone coming to visit Utah and he can’t help but feel relieved and at the same time both sorry and angry for his friend.

His cover was as Utah’s—or rather, Agent Bringer’s old partner who was currently undercover on a case and it would be best for his mission and everyone involved that no one was informed of his presence.

Bodhi felt himself falling into the law enforcement role too smoothly that he was necessarily comfortable with.

He stays through the night at Utah’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with every hiss of the ventilator; holding his hand and talking to him softly, assuring him that he’s there – that someone is. Assuring him that he isn’t alone.

In the daytime he makes his presence scarce; only entering when the room is completely void of people, personnel or otherwise.

Eventually Utah begins to stir, but he doesn’t actually wake up, and Bodhi can only watch in apprehension from the side-lines. He woke up only once during that terrible week; bleary, glazed eyes looking around, unfocused and weak. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone, but it didn’t seem like he found what he was looking when his eyes slipped shut and he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Once Utah finally regains consciousness, now free of the breathing tube and most of the machines that had been keeping him alive, Bodhi makes himself even more scarce. More agents start coming by for whatever reason and Bodhi stays as far as he can from Utah’s room without actually leaving the vicinity of the hospital. At night when Utah has finally drifted off into a fitful slumber and Bodhi knows there’s no risk of him jolting awake because of all the medicine being pumped into him. He stays with him then, through the night up until the sun rises and the flurry of activity starts back up in the ICU.

He avoids thinking about it, what the nurses had told him; what he overhears the doctors discussing with each other when they think he’s out of earshot.

 _The bullet severed his spinal cord_ , they say, like it’s supposed to explain everything.

 _Why_? Why did this happen? Why did this happen to Utah? He was a good man. He’s still a good man.

Bodhi went out of his way to chase death and every single time he walked away unscathed but now Utah is most likely paralysed because of reasons beyond his control and there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.

One day he drives out into the property he owns and the beautiful wooden house sitting lonesome by the beachside surrounded by white gold sand and the clear blue ocean only meters away. The house had been a beacon of hope of sorts a long time ago, back when life didn’t seem so bleak. When he had Chowder there as the voice of reason, Roach making snide comments about everything but having his back regardless and Grommet laughing at everything and nothing in the background.

He didn’t want the house when it was given to him. All it was was a reminder of happier times and fonder memories not tainted by tragic losses and death.

He can still see the severity of Samsara’s eye roll in the back of his mind and all of a sudden he’s overwhelmed by a crippling sense of loss. They’re all gone now. It’s only Bodhi left to walk across the creaking floorboards, across the living room to stand morosely by the sliding glass doors leading out to the porch, overlooking the endless sandy beach stretched out into the distance.

He reminds himself that he isn’t alone, not really. He still has Utah even though Utah doesn’t know that he still has Bodhi.

All of a sudden he starts wondering what Utah is doing right then. It’s later in the afternoon so he’d probably be done with physical therapy. He’s probably back in his room, brooding silently by the window, not that Bodhi can find any reason to blame him.

On more than one occasion Bodhi had found himself wanting to step out of the shadows; step up into Utah’s line of sight and tell him that he was there and that he wasn’t alone, because he can see those thoughts hovering around in his head like a dark cloud.

But the truth was that he just wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to make his presence known or to stand there looking down at Utah knowing that that was the way it was going to be from now on. Realizing the simple act of looking someone straight in the eye and locking gazes with a person on an even level was something he’d always taken for granted. He wasn’t ready to see the devastation in those eyes and the crack in his soul from up close.

He just wasn’t ready.

The house is too far from the hospital to make frequent trips back to settle everything he needed to settle and complete everything he needed to complete. So he works relentlessly the few days he goes there before making the long drive back to the city and to the hospital to keep Utah company from afar.

The thought of Utah finally getting discharged seemed like something unattainable just a few months ago, but it had finally arrived. Utah didn’t seem so much _excited_ as he did _relieved_. But Utah didn’t show much of how he felt on the inside lately and the sad reality that he’d been weighed down by life again really cut Bodhi deep on the inside.

Months of planning. Months of hiding and lurking in the shadows. Months of watching Utah slowly deteriorate from the inside out had finally coming to ahead and the moment he steps through the familiar threshold of the hospital room he can hear his own heart beating inside his chest.

Utah isn’t looking at him when he enters and it feels like a blessing in disguise because he’s able to attempt to calm his thundering heart even a little and reveal everything at his own pace.

Utah’s reaction is—unexpected to say the least.

He expected relief, maybe a little happiness and a lot of anger.

But what he isn’t expecting are the tears. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Utah cry, not before the shooting, even though he came close to it when Chowder died, not when Samsara died in his arms. Not after the shooting. Not even _once_ through the whole ordeal no matter how painful it was or how devastated he was on the inside. So to see it now from so close; to feel the tears soaking into his shirt and to feel the arm circling his chest and latching onto the material of his shirt so desperately, it’s unnerving. He tries to keep his head; he tries to keep cool because if ever there was a time for him to be the _strong one_ , it’s absolutely right at that moment.

Utah needs him right now; maybe more than Bodhi even expected. But seeing the broken man before him; broken not just spiritually, but also physically and in a much more permanent way, Bodhi makes a promise to himself that despite his own insecurities and hesitance and just lack of experience, he’s absolutely going to be the person Utah can depend on to be there for him because just like him, Utah doesn’t have anyone else in his life.

\--

The instinct came naturally; like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary or something he hadn’t done a thousand times before. That was just the level of comfort he felt around Utah. He didn’t realize at that moment that the feeling might not have been mutual on that matter.

Truthfully he hadn’t even given it much thought and he wasn’t even actually thinking about it when he stooped down beside Utah when they were by the car and reached for his arm. It wasn’t a big deal to him, Utah needed help and he was in the position to give him that help.

In hindsight he realized how selfish he’d been. It wasn’t about him, nothing about the situation – _Utah’s_ situation was about him. It was about Utah and he should have realized that and respected that since he’d preached respect so many times in the past. But like with everything else in his life, he talked himself out of it and Utah—no, _Johnny_ , hesitantly accepted that help. He understood his friend’s reluctance and had the shoe been on the other foot, he doesn’t think he would have been able to deal with it with as much poise as Johnny had.

He could see shame in Johnny’s reaction and far be it for him to tell someone else what to feel or how to act; he could only dictate his own path and his own feelings, but the way he saw it, it was an honour that Johnny accepted his help, that he allowed Bodhi to help him. He hoped that Johnny didn’t see it as an obligation on either of their parts. The only thing he wanted to do was ease some of the burden Johnny had been carrying alone on his shoulders. If that meant having to carry Johnny along with it, then so be it. He just hoped that Johnny wouldn’t see it in anyway as pity because it was absolutely furthest from the truth.

Chowder, Roach, Grommet and Samsara’s death – that was all on him, and he could help but feel that perhaps the shooting was somehow on him as well. Perhaps it was Mother Nature’s way of punishing _him_ for straying from the path, maybe even for attempting the eight. Ozaki was the one who created it and his quest for Nirvana had killed him, as it had killed everyone who ever attempted it besides Bodhi and Johnny. Now, maybe Johnny was paying the price for the both of them.

It occurred to him in that moment that Ozaki would have liked him.

Johnny.

From the first moment Bodhi laid eyes on the blond man, looking so uncertain and lost. So—disconnected; neither reaction the result of his current predicament, Bodhi saw a glimpse of himself from the past before Ozaki came into his life and saved him.

From that moment he vowed that he would do everything he could to try save this person the same way he had been saved. That was his way of giving back and he thought he’d succeeded that moment on the side of the snowy mountain watching Johnny’s descent down the deadly cliff edge. Gone was the hesitance and the fear and the disconnect. For the first time he thought that he was finally looking at the real Johnny Utah and he was absolutely breath-taking.

He finds himself glancing over at the silent figure at his side, staring morosely out the window at the scenery rushing past.

He’s still beautiful.

The conversation during the drive is relaxed and unhurried. It was something they both needed; a bit of a breather after everything that’s happened, not just in the last four months, but since that moment on the boat out on the turbulent ocean when Bodhi realized he hadn’t failed with Johnny after all.

He doesn’t know how long they’re on the road. It’s like time is standing still and rushing past all at once, but he notices Johnny’s tense body language and the way he tries to hide the wince. There really is nowhere practical to stop on the road they’re on as the light of the day continues receding, plunging the whole area and the deserted road into the darkness. It’s just them and the muffled roaring of the car engine rumbling with an echo against the cliff side and Bodhi decides to pull over near the edge where the cliff slopes sharply and there’s a sizeable plot of land between the road and the deadly incline beyond the rails.

This time Bodhi doesn’t assume anything before he walks around the car to Johnny’s side, pushing the wheelchair in front of him. Johnny is already half out of the car when Bodhi gets there but he doesn’t make a move or say anything. He watches the other man intently, waiting for him to make the first move or to say something; to say that it’s okay. Johnny doesn’t say anything verbally, only through his body language that Bodhi understands like he’s been speaking it forever. Johnny still seems uncomfortable, not that he has reasons to feel otherwise, but at the very least he seems to realize that Bodhi is there for him because he wanted to be and because he’s willing to deal with anything that life decides to throw at them.

The subtle flirting comes almost second nature, not that he’s ever been a big flirt. But being around the other man, even during those short two weeks they were actually acquainted in the beginning, it feels natural; like they’d known each other for a much longer time. There’s just something about Johnny that puts him at ease, just his presence that has always felt familiar, even comforting and continues to remain that way.

It feels like they actually fall into some sort of rhythm by the time Bodhi helps Johnny into his chair. Even the feeling of discomfort radiating off the other man doesn’t seem as potent as it had been the first time around.

They watch the sunset in companionable silence and stay for a little while longer after it disappears from sight.

Johnny tries to hide his pain but Bodhi as usual can see straight through him. So they stop at the very first (dilapidated) gas station they come across and Bodhi gathers anything he can find that looked even remotely edible. After they both finish whatever microwaved imitation beef product – which truthfully tasted better than it looked – and Johnny’s taken more than half a dozen different pills, they continue on their way.

Bodhi continues glancing over at Johnny from time to time. They’ve descended into a comfortable sort of silence driving down the dark, deserted road into a future rife with uncertainties. Johnny doesn’t glance back but Bodhi isn’t offended. The other man looks like he’s fighting a tough battle against sleep; leaning heavily against the back of the seat, his head resting against the headrest and his eyes gazing unblinking at a spot outside his window. His eyelids keep drooping and he keeps on forcing them back open.

Without thinking about it, Bodhi reaches over to grasp his shoulder. “Sleep,” he says, or rather instructs.

Instead of fighting him on it like he’s been with his own waning consciousness, Johnny seems like he’s been waiting for Bodhi to say those exact words because not thirty seconds later, his eyes close and his breathing evens out and he finally descends into the warm embrace of sleep.  

Bodhi drives through the night as Johnny sleeps on undisturbed. They don’t stop again for the rest of the journey. Bodhi isn’t hungry and he doesn’t have to use the restroom and he isn’t willing to disturb Johnny to ask him because it’s the first time in four months he’s watching the other man sleep without being plagued by crippling nightmares.

They pass just one car on the road and the remainder of the drive is done in otherwise complete darkness and isolation.

It’s still hours before dawn by the time they arrive at their destination and Bodhi is exhausted. He isn’t even sure how he managed to drive the handful of times he made the journey through the course of those four months. But they make it safe and sound and without trouble and Johnny hadn’t stirred even once.

He can feel and hear the popping sounds of his contracted joints when he steps out of the car and stretches; inhaling the cool ocean breeze that rustles the leaves in the distance and feels refreshing against his skin.

With a glance at Johnny’s still sleeping figure in the passenger seat, slightly curled into himself facing away from him, Bodhi gently closes the driver side door without disturbing him and strides up the walkway towards the shadow on the building looming in the dark.

The house is blanketed in darkness when he enters. Only the glow from the moonlight shining through the glass plated door leading out towards the veranda allows him to navigate around the sparse furniture in the living room towards the main power box by the kitchen wall in the far corner, flipping all the switches to allow electricity to flow in through the power lines. The moment he does that, he’s almost blinded by the stream of light that explodes inside the confined space. It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and adjust his eyes to the brightness.

When he returns to the car, not ten minutes later, he finds Johnny still deeply asleep and he’s almost reluctant to wake the guy from such a comfortable rest.

It takes him all of thirty seconds to come to a decision before he leans down, gently circling Johnny’s right arm around his shoulder and slipping his arms under Johnny’s legs and behind his back; nearly the exact image of yesterday afternoon as they were leaving the hospital, only this time with Johnny’s head lolling limply onto his shoulder. He kicks the car door close without jolting the sleeping man in his arms before trekking across the walkway silently, in through the front door, across the living room. His trek through the house is silent, having kicked off his shoes when he first entered and making his way into the master bedroom at the far end of the hall.

He lowers Johnny down onto the mattress, takes off his shoes and finally tucks him in under the fleece blanket folded up readily on the side. Only then does he feel like he can finally exhale. Not so much from the walk into the house with the other man in his arms, but from everything that’s happened over the last twelve hours or so.

He walks out for a moment to grab Johnny’s wheelchair out of the car, lock the front door and check to make sure everything is in order before returning to the room. After making sure the wheelchair was set up next to the bed within reach so that Johnny won’t have any trouble to get to it when he needs to, Bodhi walks around to the sofa pushed up against the wall facing the bed and drops heavily onto the cushions; allowing his limbs to sprawl almost unceremoniously across the length and just leans back to watch the rise and fall of Johnny’s chest as he sleeps.

He remembers an almost too distant memory, finding himself in an almost similar position watching the same man burrowed under half a dozen pillows sleeping on the deck of the ridiculously over-priced yacht. Watching as the light of the rising sun cast an ethereal glow across his face and making his blonde hair shine up almost like a halo. It feels like a lifetime ago because in a way, it is. Perhaps even another lifetime because in both their cases, especially Johnny’s, their lives are no longer the same.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep until he experiences the sensation of waking up; feeling the heat of the morning sunrise warming up his face. A glance at Johnny shows the man still slumbering and for a split second Bodhi finds himself arbitrarily concerned by his deep sleep; the memory of Johnny being in a coma; of him being so unconscious and so lifeless feels so fresh in Bodhi’s memory. He manages to shake himself free of worry and instead makes his way to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee – perhaps _multiple_ cups.

The sky outside the window is a gorgeous blue, calm and relaxing. It’s the reason why he always loved that place and why he’d decided on it even when he promised himself that he wouldn’t step foot in that house or on that property after Ozaki died. His decision only reinforced when Samsara followed him not long after.

But being in the house at that moment with the sun shining and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore lulling him like a calm serenade; coupled with the presence of the man still sleeping in the room down the hall, somehow it all just feels right.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there in silence looking out at nothing in the distance. He doesn’t notice the movement out of the corner of his eye or the sound of wheels creaking on the floorboard until he hears a voice calling his name; finding Johnny looking at him from the hallway beside the kitchen when he turns around.

“Hey. Good morning.”

“Morning,” Johnny greets back, eyes looking around at the rest of the house as he moves closer. “Where are we?”

Bodhi takes a sip of the coffee in his hand, the scorching heat of the liquid oddly soothing when it goes down his throat. “Home,” he says, locking eyes with Johnny; obviously the man doesn’t find his answer all that reassuring because his brows furrow in both confusion and annoyance, prompting Bodhi to continue. “This is – was Ozaki’s house. He built it with his own two hands a long time ago.” _He never got to live in it_ , remains unsaid.

The revelation seems to sober Johnny almost immediately when he approaches. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” says Bodhi.

“Are you sure it’s okay—”

“It’s more than okay,” Bodhi interrupts immediately, deep down knowing immediately what Johnny is about to say without him having to say. “I never wanted this house. It just… held too many memories. But it’s different now.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says. Bodhi hates when he apologizes for things that aren’t his fault or things he never even had any control over. But he’s come to accept it as part of Johnny that he’d never be able to fix. He realizes that he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. It’s what makes Johnny, _Johnny_.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says; grabbing a spare cup, the coffeepot and pushes himself away from the countertop he’s been leaning against, beckoning Johnny to join him at the dinner table just a few feet away; pulling out one of the chairs and pushing it to the side to make room for Johnny’s wheelchair. “How was your rest?”

“Restful,” Johnny says. “Did you drive the whole night?”

Bodhi nods affirmatively. “I didn’t want to wake you to ask if you needed to stop for anything,” he says.

Johnny just nods absentmindedly. “I’m just happy to be anywhere but that hospital.”

They lapse into a companionable silence after that. Just enjoying their morning coffee and taking in each other’s presence. It’s one of the reasons why Bodhi enjoys being in Johnny’s company, especially when it’s just the two of them. Conversations never feel forced or stilted or like it’s an obligation. They talk when there are things to talk about, but when there isn’t the silence speaks just as much in its place.

“Not that I don’t appreciate—all this,” he motions to his surroundings, “But there’s still the issue of my things back at my place. It’s nothing immediately important but I’ve grown pretty fond of my belongings.”

Bodhi spares him a half smile. “You underestimate my planning capabilities, Utah.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Obviously you haven’t had time to fully explore the house, but I think you’ll find all your monetary possessions safe and accounted for.”

Johnny is silent when their eyes meet. “I have so many questions right now, but I’m not even going to ask. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“You do that,” he replies as he finishes the last sip of coffee in his cup and gets to his feet. “So—tour?”

He walks beside Johnny as they traverse the single story layout of the gorgeously crafted wooden house, pointing out the master bedroom Johnny had exited from and the two other guest bedrooms a little further down and across the hall from it. The kitchen area is open, separated from the living room by a marble top counter and the dining table a few feet away. The living room itself has two large L-shaped sofas, flanking a ridiculously furry tan coloured carpet right in the middle and across from the large LCD screen TV mounted on the wall. The furthest wall on the right has a large glass screen sliding door that opens into the free air veranda just outside and the white beachy sands and the ocean not thirty feet away.

The moment they step out into the sun and get hit by the smell of the familiar ocean breeze, Bodhi can see Johnny physically relax. The difference is tangible like being outside immediately calmed his frayed nerves and the perpetual tension in his shoulders. He remembers a time when neither of those were things he’d associate with Johnny Utah, but that time feels like a thousand years ago.

“It’s amazing,” he says and Bodhi doesn’t need to answer to convey his agreement.

The outside truly is a sight to behold. Their house sits just shy of the actual ocean, on the shore between the beach and the small sandy road surrounded by greenery they had to pass on the drive over. There aren’t any other houses or people for miles either way. It’s just the house, them, and the calming presence of Mother Nature always keeping a watchful eye.

There is one last thing he wants to show Johnny, something he really wants the guy to see to let him know that he’s serious about all this.

He gestures towards the handles of the wheelchair, waiting for Johnny to give the okay before he circles around to take the reins; leading him towards the far end of the veranda where he’d taken apart a section of the wooden rails and built a ramp that leads directly down to the ocean.

He knows Johnny can tell that the addition was made recently because the difference in colouring between the weathered wood that had been there for years as opposed to the ramp whose wooden tone is still vibrant and still smells like freshly cut timber.

They venture down to the seashore together and Bodhi can barely tear his eyes away from Johnny’s face and the almost wondrous expression he has as he looks down at the foamy water lapping the front wheels of his chair. It’s a gorgeous sight to behold but also a bittersweet one at the same time.

Bodhi thinks of the man who’d been so unafraid of the steep, rock-strewn drop on that snow covered mountain. He still hears the reverence in his voice when he said _, ‘But it’s also perfect.’_ He thinks of his utter fearlessness when he didn’t stop at the second cliff when everyone else had been too afraid.

Roach had called him broken, but Bodhi thought that was the closest he’d seen Johnny come to being whole.

He didn’t give up on Johnny back then, and he isn’t about to start now.

“We should get a dog,” Bodhi says, attracting a questioning look. “One of those service dogs types maybe. I’ve always liked Dogo Argentinos.”

Johnny is silent before he turns back to look out at the vast ocean that lay before him.

Bodhi almost has to strain to listen when he speaks and the question comes out as more of a whisper than an actual query.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Well, dogs always make good companions; unless you prefer cats. But I don’t think they’d—”

“Not about the dog, Bodhi. Why— _this_? All of this? The house, the drive here; you being at the hospital, you being back here—just, why? Why are you doing all this?”

Bodhi feels his insides plummet at the question. It’s not that he isn’t prepared for it; he’s had four months to try and figure it out himself and he’s not even sure he succeeded in doing that.

Why indeed.

“Because—” he starts, testing out the word not knowing whether the rest of it is going to roll off his tongue as smoothly as he wants. “Because… you’re all I have left.”

Johnny is silent. Bodhi doesn’t know whether it’s because he accepted the answer or because he doesn’t. But he speaks again, his voice soft and understanding when he says, “You’re all I have left too,” and Bodhi allows the relieved smile to spread across his face. “By the way, you’re kind of like the human version of a Dogo Argentino actually.”

Bodhi laughs and Johnny laughs along with him.

Bodhi cooks for them that night. It’s nothing fancy, just some meat with a side of vegetables: simple and healthy. But sitting across from the man who’s plagued his thoughts and dreams for the past four years, watching him enjoy the food he cooked and seeing the way he seems almost relaxed for the first time, Bodhi thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever made. All in all, he thinks they’re off to a pretty good beginning.

“I want to go down to the beach,” Johnny says suddenly when he’s gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink while Bodhi watches him from the dining table.

They’d both changed into a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt after coming back from the beach that afternoon. It felt disrespectful to be wearing jeans or slacks in such close proximity to the ocean.

“Okay.”

Johnny lets him take the reins again when they walk out onto the veranda; the light switch by the sliding door turns on the spotlights that illuminate the whole beach front area of the house and the shoreline it stretches out towards. The sky is pitch black, illuminated only by the smattering of stars spread out like bits of glitter dust in space.

The ocean is calm; the sea surface tranquil, only rippling under Bodhi’s feet when he steps into the water.

His body moves of its own accord when he pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it over to the dry sand when he walks up to Johnny; his gait determined and purposeful.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructs.

Johnny is taken aback by the request but complies almost hesitantly before Bodhi takes the shirt out of his hands and tosses it to the side where his own shirt lies. He holds both his hands out to Johnny when he steps up to stand in front of him.

Johnny looks between his outstretched hands and his face a few times confusedly.

“Bodhi—” he starts, his tone tired, if not a little broken.

“Johnny, just—trust me. Please.”

Eventually the blond relents and reluctantly grabs Bodhi’s hands with both of his and tries not to flinch back too obviously when he suddenly bends down to circle Johnny’s arms around his neck; his free arms now circling Johnny around the waist, firmly and securely. He feels Johnny burrow his face into the crook of his neck as he slowly lifts him up out of the wheelchair, sensing the shudder that runs up through his body when they’re both upright. He’s clinging onto Bodhi’s neck with as much strength as he can muster and Bodhi just tightens the grip his has around his body in return. He’s holding Johnny’s entire weight in his arms but he doesn’t feel heavy or like a burden at all.

Carefully he takes one step backwards after another until he can feel the cool sea water wash over his feet. Johnny hasn’t moved or spoken. He’s not even sure if the other man is currently breathing, but he can sense the thumping of his heart against his own chest and it feels soothing.

“Trust me, Johnny. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says even though Johnny hasn’t said a word. _Not again_.

After a beat he hears Johnny’s voice in his ear, “I do.” And a feeling of relief and maybe a bit of pride washes over him like the tide gently lapping at his knees.

It isn’t until they’re a few meters out and nearly chest deep in the tranquil waters that Bodhi releases the tight hold he has around Johnny but not fully letting go. Johnny follows his movement a little more reluctantly.

He can sense the nervousness radiating off Johnny and the anxious furrow of his brows when their faces are far enough apart that he can see the other man’s expression. Johnny’s still holding onto his shoulder with one hand while the other one releases the hold to tread water near his arm.

“You okay?” he asks when Johnny stays silent.

“Yeah,” Johnny replies, looking at his free hand playing around with the seawater; cupping a handful of it and watching fascinatedly as it slowly trickles out from between his fingers. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?” he asks again, unable to look away from the gorgeous sight before his eyes and the man who’s made such a big impact on his life in the most unexpected ways.

Johnny gives his reply some thought before he speaks again. “Just life. My life – how I never thought I’d end up in this position. I guess you never think something like this will happen to you until it does,” he says, his tone bittersweet and his eyes sad. “Thinking about the sea and – truthfully, I never thought I’d ever be able to do something like this again,” he admits. “It’s kind of funny how life can fuck you up.” He looks up at Bodhi when he finishes, straight into his almost like he’s staring straight into his soul. “Thinking about you.”

“Only good things I hope,” Bodhi says light-heartedly, though it feels like his heart’s all of a sudden started pounding against his ribcage.

“The best,” Johnny replies seriously, reaching up to circle both arms around Bodhi’s shoulders and his neck once again, pulling himself closer, or pulling Bodhi closer to himself; closing the distance between their bodies until there’s none.

It’s a bizarre sensation, the feeling of two hearts beating almost in unison in such close proximity.

Bodhi swallows the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He can’t bring himself to blink; concerned that he’d miss even a split second of the moment and the sight of Johnny’s gorgeous eyes staring straight into his. Their noses are a hair width apart and Bodhi can almost smell the sweetness of Johnny’s breath when he exhales.

Bodhi’s done many things in his life, initiated most of them while everyone just trails after him from the rear. Only a handful of people have ever stood side by side with him because they didn’t deserve to be in a lesser position. Only one person constantly walked ahead of him, with him always reaching out, always hoping to even get to brush his fingers on the material of his coattails billowing behind him like a cape.

Roach, Chowder, Grommet and Samsara; they were always there by his side, propping him up higher and following him faithfully to the end.

Ozaki is always and will always be the shadow he’s chasing after knowing that he’ll never be able to catch up.

Everyone else is just a fleeting moment and a minor detail.

Everyone else – except for Johnny. Johnny was and continues to be an anomaly in Bodhi’s meticulously crafted plan.

The shoulder length blonde hair that always makes him feel like he wants to run his fingers through the silky soft strands.

The blue eyes that always shine with a sincerity and intensity that Bodhi only ever sees reflected in a mirror.

Bodhi never let anyone else dictate the direction and the path his life would take, he never has and up until the moment he met Johnny, he never thought he would. But he’s absolutely certain now that it’s a path he doesn’t want to traverse alone – not any more.

It only feels right that their first meeting had been out on the great wide sea, undertaking one of the world’s most insurmountable tasks – then to find themselves four years later in the exactly same situation but under terribly different circumstances and as two completely changed me. But at the same time, it’s also encouraging to know that whatever it was they’d both felt that fateful day, that somehow it’s stood the test of time.

Bodhi was never one to sit back and let someone else take the reins, but when Johnny leans in closer to him, his nose brushing against Bodhi’s and his arms tightening around Bodhi’s neck; the surrounding suddenly becomes too quiet and too intense and all of a sudden Johnny is too close.

But in the split second before his lips come crashing down on Bodhi’s, Bodhi can only think that he isn’t close enough.

The kiss is intense and wild, with a raw sort of ferocity and a hunger neither of them have ever felt before.

Bodhi grasps desperately at Johnny’s back, feeling his fingernails digging fervently into the skin and he can feel Johnny latching onto him just as enthusiastically in return.

The water ripples and splashes violently around them as their bodies move. Bodhi feels himself taking a step back as Johnny’s lips keep coming at him with a passion he doesn’t think he’s ever seen in the other man before, not even when they were flying through the skies, headed either towards glory or death. Not even when they were descending down the icy slopes and he was looking at Johnny’s back almost disappearing from sight.

He doesn’t know how long it is before they finally pull away, panting, but they stay in the embrace. Johnny’s face is flushed, his eyes almost glazed over and his parted lips red and plump and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t look much better.

Nothing moves and neither of them make a sound beside the lapping sound of the water slapping against their bodies.

“Bodhi—” Johnny starts, but Bodhi silences him with an additional kiss square on the lips without waiting for him to finish.

He pulls Johnny back into the embrace; his arms crossed behind Johnny’s back as he reaches up to grasp him on the shoulder, holding him securely in the embrace.

The words leave his lips before he can even give them a second thought and he’s glad he isn’t looking at his face to see his startled reaction when he says, “I love you.”

He can feel Johnny immediately still and his heart plummets into his gut for a split second before Johnny readjusts his arms to hold on more securely around his shoulders and he hears the words being whispered into his ear.

“I love you too.”

Bodhi doesn’t know how long they stay out there in the water in each other’s embrace. At the very least, it’s long enough for him to feel the wrinkling of his fingertips when he rubs them together.

As if he was reading his mind, Johnny pulls back first; loosening his arms around Bodhi’s neck and pushing himself back, keeping Bodhi at arm’s length with both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for coming back and for being there. Thank you for— _everything_ and giving me back a life. _My_ life.”

Bodhi gazes at him intently after he finishes speaking, just trying to absorb every single second of that moment, etching details of Johnny’s face into his memory.

“It’s my _honour_ ,” he says and that’s all that needs to be said.

Johnny leans in for another kiss and Bodhi’s only too happy to comply.

The walk back up to dry land is done in comfortable silence; Bodhi lifting Johnny up into his arms when the water becomes too shallow. Johnny still isn’t a hundred percent at ease and Bodhi doesn’t think that he’ll ever truly be. But for his part, he feels himself sinking into this role with more ease than he expected of himself. He doesn’t see himself as a caregiver or playing doctor, just like he doesn’t see Johnny as helpless or somehow less of a person. He just can’t do things the same way other people can, which doesn’t mean that he won’t find a way to do the same things just as well if not better, considering who he is.

He knows that Johnny will eventually find a way to be okay with everything, to be okay with himself again, and all he wants is to be there to help him along the way.

They’re dripping wet and leaving sodden, sandy trails on the floor when they enter. It’s the cheeky juvenile grin Johnny has on his face when he looks at the tracks they’re both leaving behind that causes Bodhi to burst out into an unexpected laugh.

“Dibs on the shower,” Johnny says.

“That’s not fair. You tricked me into laughing.”

“I guess you saw straight through me there.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Bodhi says with a teasing wink.

“You know,” Johnny starts as he’s turning his chair around, “Considering the size of this place, I’m guessing the bathroom wouldn’t be overly small either.” This time it’s Johnny who gives Bodhi a wink and once again, Bodhi is only too happy to accept the unspoken offer.

It isn’t until they’re in the bedroom later that night that Bodhi finally finds a moment to reflect on what’s happened and the ramifications of it all.

He’s standing inside the walk-in closet and has been staring stupidly at the clothes hanging in front of him for the past fifteen minutes.

Everything about this is new; the house, the closet, the living space; the man waiting for him in the bedroom and just the sheer normality of it all. He doesn’t remember the last time he settled down in one spot for this long and with the intention of actually staying.

In the end he grabs the first item in reach which is a pair of black sweats and a plain black singlet, pulling both on before finally walking back out into the bedroom where Johnny is waiting for him. He finds Johnny watching him, amused, while sitting leaning against the headboard of the bed, and his legs stretched out in front of him and his wheelchair parked close beside. He’s dressed in contrasting colours to Bodhi in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Took you that long to decide on the outfit? Or did you have to settle?” he asks, and Bodhi can’t help but smile at the familiar sardonic tone in Johnny’s voice again.

“Well, I do have someone I want to impress now,” he replies and he tries not to act too smug when Johnny doesn’t seem to be able to find the words to respond.

He takes those few short steps over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “Johnny,” he starts, inhaling deeply as he eyes the man across from him. “This – all of this is new to the both of us. So… so if you’re not sure – it’s okay. We both need time to get used to – well… _everything_.”

Johnny looks like he’s seriously contemplating Bodhi’s words, but there’s not even a hint of hesitation in his voice when he answers. “No. It’s—I want you here. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay,” Bodhi says, allowing himself a smile as he crawls across the mattress and plants himself on his side next to Johnny before the other man lays down on his back to join him.

The living room is dark and the rest of the house is silent; the only source of light is from the standing lamps on either side of the bed, illuminating the entire master bedroom and casting a glow on the silhouette of Johnny’s face. Subconsciously he stretches across the distance between them to rest his arm on Johnny’s stomach, his fingers tracing indistinct patterns onto the exposed skin on Johnny’s stomach from where his shirt has inadvertently ridden up. “Ready for bed?”

Johnny covers Bodhi’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers together while stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. “Are you?”

“I am now.”

Bodhi doesn’t fall asleep immediately after they both lapse into silence. The side lamps have been switched off and the only source of light is the rays from the moon shining in through the window.

He looks over at Johnny who seems to have fallen deeply asleep the moment his head hit the pillow and he can’t help but flashback to the last four months.

The fateful incident that set everything in motion. Sitting helplessly by that bedside in the ICU, watching his friend, someone he’d come to care so much about fighting for his life; watching the machines breathe for him and keeping him alive; hoping against hope that he’d stay alive and that there was enough of Johnny still in there to _want_ to be alive.

Hearing that word coming out of the doctor’s mouth.

_Paralysed._

That’s what he’d said and Bodhi wasn’t sure if he was even hearing him right.  

But then Johnny woke up from the coma, and it was both a time to celebrate and one of the most heart-breaking moments Bodhi had had to witness. But Johnny didn’t cry, not even once and Bodhi took his own cue from that.

Bodhi forces himself to remember that Johnny is here, now; his breathing even and his eyes closed and his consciousness lost in the land of sleep – but he’s here with Bodhi.

Bodhi’s fingers find the jagged edges of the scar on his stomach, extending from the middle of his upper chest straight down to his belly button; long and grotesque and a constant reminder of everything he’s been through and everything he still had to go through heading forward, but he’s alive and to Bodhi that’s the only thing that matters. Everything else he can deal with.

Johnny stirs a little when Bodhi’s finger hits a particularly sensitive spot but it doesn’t rouse him from his slumber.

Bodhi continues watching the man sleep, all the way through the night and into the morning like habit, until he can feel the heat of the rising sun in air.

He’s still staring when Johnny finally stirs and his eyes slowly crack open, before he turns his head to the right to find Bodhi already gazing intently at him.

Johnny’s smile alone is worth all the tasks and all the treasures of the world and when he opens his mouth to greet Bodhi with a raspy, “Good morning,” – his hand finding Bodhi’s own still resting comfortably on his chest; Bodhi thinks that he has so much to give back to make up for everything he has right now, right in that moment.

He doesn’t need nirvana or enlightenment or all precious stones in the world; he already has the only one he needs right there in front of him.

He leans over to kiss Johnny once on the lips and pulls back to relish in the sight of the gorgeous smile that slowly curls his lips.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“That’s because I love you,” Bodhi says and the look on Johnny’s face alone is worth all the riches in the world.

 

**The End**


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